Page 2 of A Broken Ember

When the sun reached its peak, I made my way through the palace. The gray-slab halls were empty, most of the clan having already vacated the castle. An echo of footsteps alerted me to my sister’s presence before she rounded the corner. She wore her own traditional outfit—a dress similar to mine. Dainty chains connected her ear to her eyebrow, lip, and nose, linking the senses. The hilts of my sister’s preferred twin daggers crossed at her shoulders. A braided silver crown encircled her head. Her violet eyes scrutinized my body, seeking any imperfections. There were none. She slowly nodded her approval. We exited the castle together, hearing the sounds of chanting from the forest. Our grandmother, the Janardan of the Circulus, would be amongst them already, as would Tamela and Ercan.

The enthusiastic sun provided a perfect day for the completion of a Circle. Birds chirped in the skies. I longed to join them in my draconis form, but duty bound me to the ground for now. When I flew, I felt the most in control of my own Circle. I could almost pretend I was free to make my own decisions, but eventually my duty as Ruptor followed me even into the sky.

We walked over the land bridge that connected the castle on the island cliff to the mainland, passing the rock stairs laboriously hammered into the cliff. We lithely made our way through the ragged cliffs until we reached the forest’s edge. I dodged overgrown trees, experience having taught me the thorny routes to avoid—-not because they could hurt me, but rather because they tore at my clothing. Just as we arrived, the chanting reached a crescendo. My breath caught in my throat as the clan came into view. They were gathered in a circle, Tamela and Thana at its center. The members closest to us parted, allowing us entrance through the thousands of hushed draconis.

Mother knelt before a deep grave. Thana stood over her daughter, a small tray of inks and fine daggers prepared for me. I took my place beside them and grabbed my blade. It was simply made, with a leather hilt and a near needle-point edge, designed for the completion of the crescent I tattooed upon each babe's neck upon birth. I began painstakingly pressing the ink into Tamela’s flesh. My heart ached as if the blade were tattooing the organ. Over and over, I inserted the inked tip, using it to complete the Circle at her nape.

“Circles are never-ending, always enduring. Everything that once was, is or will be is part of the sacred Circle. Some are smaller and some are swollen, but all are complete. Do not fear this change. Be at peace, Circulus.” I spoke the words of honor for her comfort and to lend my strength in her time of weakness. Tamela held her head high until it was done. Only then did we look at the Circulus around us. Ercan was missing. Where was Tamela’s mate—my father? When her eyes met mine, there wasn’t an inkling of fear. Pride surged in my chest for her despite her weakness. She was still my mother, and she had been a pillar of strength my entire life. She deserved the completion of her Circle, and I would make it quick and as painless as possible.

“Daughter of the Circulus, you are a great warrior,” Thana thundered, and murmurs of agreement echoed from the clan. “Your offspring inherit your strength. May their Circles be swollen with life. Rest now, Tamela, sweet darkness.”

Tamela bowed her head and laid in the grave. Against the dirt, the gray of her skin was stark. The great warrior we knew her to be was still inside her. Resting. Instincts guided me, making demands of me now. I stepped into the grave and knelt over my mother. My insides shook, but my exterior was as hard as stone. “I see you, draconis. I see your Circle. You’ve done well, Circulus. Rest now,” I murmured before placing the blade upon the vessel in her neck that would release her the quickest from this life. I didn’t hesitate. The dagger slid across her throat, and blood poured out, quickly covering my hands. A small, precise cut. The blood warmed my skin with its splatters, creating a unique artwork of my body. It crafted a final story with its streaks, drips and trails. Receiving her blood’s tale was an honor.

Within moments, her suffering would be over. “Until the Circles end,” I said in farewell. I stayed by her side until the lifeblood quit pouring out of her. It wasn’t long before life drained from her faded Circle, and with a final press of my lips to her forehead I left her to embark on her next Circle.

When I stepped out of the grave, Thana began the next part of the ritual by scooping up some of the soil and pouring it over her daughter. One by one, we each buried my mother until no piece of her was visible. There were no tears. Weeping wasn’t the way of the Circulus. We were crafted stone, Pruned to perfection. So, when a wail rose from deep within the crowd—a sound I instantly recognized, I bristled.

“Tamela! TAMELA!” The name splintered in the eardrum, hurting the ears to hear its echoes of grief. “Please, Claeg, don’t take her from me!” The crowd of Circulus reeled back with blatant disgust. From within their depths emerged Ercan. His face was unusually red, paths of tears marking his cheeks.

My heart stopped. It was immediately clear why he had been kept from the ceremony—he was being dishonorably Pruned. Broken Circles were burned into his flesh, on his hands. The skin was inflamed and crimson. I knew without seeing that the tattoo on the back of his neck had been burned off. The Janardan had disowned him. It didn’t happen often in the Circulus clan—most Circles were completed, not broken. It was worse than death, to be cast out. Little gasps echoed throughout the clan. I glanced at Clotho. There wasn’t a flicker of surprise on her face. She’d known. Of course, she had—she was destined to be the future Janardan.

Ercan fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. His nails dug into the soil above his mate. “No, no, no!” he screamed, dragging the dirt aside with his ruined palms.

I seethed. How dare he disrespect the completion of his mate’s Circle with his weakness! We were supposed to offer her our strength at this time. My lip curled. I wanted to spit upon my father, but I couldn’t do so without disrespecting Tamela’s grave. Around me, the clan began whispering, voicing my surprised thoughts. Many looked to Thana expectantly for orders. We didn’t have to wait long, but it came from a source I hadn’t expected.

“Claeg, take him to the Neutral Strip,” Clotho growled. My eyes met my grandmother’s. She nodded in agreement, but I caught a flicker of something I couldn’t discern before it vanished from her face.

“If he attempts to return, kill him,” my grandmother said, any emotion she felt hidden behind a mask of stone and responsibility.

I swallowed and nodded, stepping forward to heave my father up. He struggled against my grip, but his emotional state weakened him, making him easy to overpower. Even level-headed I had been able to overtake my father for years. He lashed out, throwing an elbow backwards, trying to catch me in the face, but I easily evaded him. I caught his arm and roughly jerked him backwards. Ercan responded by ungracefully trying to shove me back. Despite his scrambling, I managed to clasp his arms, using a chain from around my neck to bind his hands.

“Stop! You’re making a fool out of yourself,” I muttered under my breath.

“You don’t fucking understand!” he spat, jerking against me, but I held him firm, staring into his eyes. I bristled at his accusation and bit my tongue to keep from snapping back at him and making everything worse. I sneered and pulled him through the crowd as my prisoner. He dug his heels in, attempting to remain with his dead Entwined, but I yanked forward again and again. Eventually, he stumbled, hands hitting the dirt. With the collapse, a sob shuddered through his body, quickly escalating into a wail. Now I didn’t withhold my spit from flying onto his face.

He winced.

“Please, Claeg, have mercy. Complete my Circle,” he begged, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. I scoffed at him. How dare he ask such a thing!

“Mercy isn’t for those with broken Circles,” I answered and marched on, letting his body drag behind me until he got his feet under him.

His cries followed me all the way to the Neutral Strip. Even when we parted ways, they would always haunt me.

Chapter 0: Anastasius

My heart stammered with what I was about to do. Hands trembling, I opened the heavy cell door to reveal my friend. Gaunt cheekbones reflected the little light that streamed into the small square hole she had been kept in for the past few days. Darkness circled her squinting eyes. She scrambled to stand on bare feet. Someone had stripped her of De Vita garments and clothed her in the foreign outfit she had arrived in, but the trousers and shirt, little more than soiled rags now, hung off her sharp bones. There wasn’t time to change. She would have to use magic later to summon proper clothing. I motioned for Hen to follow me out of the depths of De Vita. The witch’s eyes darted up and down the dimly lit hallway. It was empty for the time being, the guards distracted by my fiery red-headed friend, Rohit.

Suspicion radiated from her as thick as the humidity in the air.

“What are you doing, Stas?” She hissed once she verified we were alone.

“You’re going back home,” I answered as I handed her the weapons and a few magic crystals on a necklace that my father had taken from her. She snatched them from me warily with a raised eyebrow. “My father… he wants to Save you, Hen. You have to leave. Go back to Eikonia, please,” I pleaded as she strapped yet another sheath to herself—this one to her upper arm.

“You know I can’t do that yet,” she said, but followed me out of the cell De Vita had put her in to keep her after refusing to fulfill his vow to her. I sighed.

“Then go to Roloxia,” I begged. Anywhere would be better than here. She gave me a look that I interpreted as exasperation, but didn’t speak.

Sweat trickled down my back. It had soaked through my black tunic long ago. Despite her protests, she let me cast a spell with the intricate passes of my hands she had shown me. The magic brought us out of De Vita. With a nauseating pulse, the portal swept us from the bowels of my home to the outskirts of the Sand Eye. The sensation was still new to me and its power was dizzying at times. It took a moment to steady my feet, but I focused on the ground, using it to orientate myself. The grass here tickled my fingertips. A warm wind twirled around the dwindling sand at our feet, the taste of spice was less potent here and the air not as acrid. I closed my eyes, allowing each of the senses to ground me. For a moment, the only sound was my racing heart before Hen broke the silence to bring me back to reality. “Stas,” her tone struck me like a blow to the chest. I didn’t dare open my eyes, knowing what I would find—her refusal to go back across the sea where it was safer for her than my continent—where she, and her power, belonged. A warm hand grasped mine, making me gnaw on my lip. Finally, I opened my eyes. “I will not return as I am. I cannot.” She squeezed my hand for emphasis as I lifted my eyes to hers. Fire blazed with raw determination. “Do not ask me again,” she warned. I knew better than to challenge her.

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